Strike Witches: Past and Present Collide Remastered
by Zoids Fanatic
Summary: Not your average Strike Witches story. Follow Nick, 'Frank', Ail, and Fiona as they navigate through a increasingly complex plot hatched up by a shadowy organization. With everything happening so fast, the four must band together if they want to survive the past and take on the present. The original PPC, remastered and reloaded with new content, the inclusion of PPCS, and more.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Strike Witches or anything else seen in this story except any and all OCs and the AB-36J gunship.**

**Warning: Contains violence, swearing, mentions of drug usage, implied rape, underage drinking, drug addiction, canon bendness, smoking, drinking, and military jargon. Be advised.  
**

**Forward: This is it. My epic Strike Witches story (yeah, you don't see epic and Strike Witches in the same sentence often), remastered and told the way it was suppose to be told. For those of you who remember this story, it's back and better then ever. For those of you joining us, be prepared for the thrill of your life... or to send me angry mail, your choice. Some changes to the story are,**

**-Reworked ending, making it less ****anticlimactic**

**-Weapon reworking**

**-Overhaul of some characters**

**-Filled in some plot holes**

**-Included PPCS and PPCS: Rise into PPC. All three are now one**

**-Some mentions of D.C**

**-And more!**

**So, let's begin, shall we?**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Time. Before all this, I would have called anyone who believed in inter-dimensions or time travel a complete nut. The whole idea of going backwards and not forwards always went over my head. Magic, sure. Magic was understandable, something that made sense. Time didn't. It wasn't until what happened that my understanding of what time and magic were changed. For better or for worse, I suppose. I can't say this is my story. I can't say I'm proud what I did. All I can say is that from that moment on, my life changed. F.D.R, W.L.O, Cobra... I think I'm getting ahead of myself at this point. Why don't I start from the beginning?

* * *

"Alright, Nick, you ready for this?" crackled a female voice over a radio.

"Read you loud and clear, Fions." The soldier named Nick replied, holding his helmet-attached microphone close to his masked face.

The year was 2011 and the place is a large track of barren land in the state of Nevada. Standing in the middle of this seemingly barren wasteland was a United States Marine Corps Marine, wearing the usual desert-style MCCUU, standing for Marine Corps Combat Utility Uniform, and a lightweight helmet. The Marine's face was masked by a red bandana covering the neck and mouth, with a pair of large, black goggles shielding the eyes. The only thing different about the Marine was that there was no MC-regulated pants present; rather the Marine was wearing shorts that were five inches just below the knee. Covering the Marine's legs, starting from beneath the shorts, were a pair of metallic-tan mechanical legs, land-based Striker Units. Strikers based on the Humvee, to be precise. Unlike Tank Strikers, the Humvee Striker had no threads, rather, it had two, small wheels on each Striker, on flanking the lower left and right. Aside from the wheels, the only other visible feature of the Humvee Striker was the headlights at the foot of the Striker.

"Alright, the systems check should have been in order. Any trouble down there? Any noises?" the other asked. A shake of the head from Nick said no. "Good. Should be fine. Now, we..."

"I got it, already" Nick said, looking up at the sky. Flying above Nick, at nearly five-thousand feet was a witch. Unlike Nick, Fiona Elizabeth O'Hare, the granddaughter of the more infamous Katherine O'Hare, was an "airborne" witch; a witch that uses Jet Strikers more or less. She liked to be called Fiona, though Nick had given her the nickname of "Fions". Unlike Nick, who was wearing the MCCUU, Fiona was wearing a standard gray flight suit with skin-tight leggings and a noise-canceling helmet which covered the entirety of her head. Like Nick, she too was wearing a Striker Unit, albeit, one based off the F-16 Falcon.

Less bulky then the F-15 Striker and cheaper then the F-22 Striker, the F-16 Striker was a simple silver "tube" of sorts, the end of the tube having a familiar jet nozzle. At the front of the Striker was a rather curved, gray opening, the intake part of the Striker that allowed air to enter the Striker, and allowed a device to collect the water particles in a small tank that would cool the Striker down, as Jet Strikers were known to get extremely hot if a witch was using the afterburner. Finally, the back of the Strikers had the tail-fin of the F-16, two smaller wing-lets jettisoning from the left and right side of each Striker. In all, the F-16 Striker was very streamlined and the witches piloting them even claimed that the Strikers just "melted into the air". However, today, the Striker was not "melting" into the air; it was rather floating there, its user holding a high-powered video camera instead of a gun, waiting to capture the footage of Nick's trek across the wasteland. Nick was going to be testing out a new pair of Strikers that were just shipped in the other day.

"Alright, when you're ready." Fiona said, facing the camera downward.

"Ready." Nick said, as a puff of dust appeared below Fiona. She began to follow the cloud of dust at a reasonable speed, making sure Nick was constantly in sight. "Alright, we're ten seconds in. How's it going?"

"All systems seem clear, I suppose. No problems as of yet." Nick replied.

"Alright, keep in mind this is the standard version Humvee Striker, the one that's rather stripped down. So it's speed-based, which I hope you know." Fiona replied, hints of worry in her voice.

"Don't worry Fiona; I'm know what I'm doing… oh Christ!" Nick cried out as the small stream of dust began to precipitate, and the microphone went to static.

"Nick? Nick, answer!" Fiona said over her radio, coming to a stop in the air. "Nick, do you respond? Nick? Shit!" She said rather loudly, turning off the mic as she made a dive for the ground, holding onto the camera as headed to the ground. Within less then twenty seconds, the witch made a drastic stop above the ground; the ground was already clambering due to the Striker, dust and small rocks being lifted into the air. Directing all magic away from the Striker, shutting it down, Fiona jettisoned it from her feet and landed on the ground in a crouch, tearing off her helmet as she did so. Without her helmet, Fiona had the face of a young woman with shoulder-length blonde hair, light-green eyes, and a slightly rcurved cheekbone. Her features were marred by the frown of concern currently occupying her face.

"Nick!" she cried out again, dropping her helmet and cranking her head around trying to find her friend. "Nick, answer!" she cried out, as a very short and weak cough replied to her calling. Turning her head to where the cough was, she saw Nick crawling on the ground, the Striker being rather beaten and dented, and the bandana that covered Nick's face ripped. "Dammit, Nick!" Fiona cried, running over to the coughing marine. She then quickly grabbed Nick, turning the marine over, and laying the marine's head on her lap. "Nick, breather! You're going to be alright." she tried to comfort him. In reality, Nick had asthma. But to hide it for concerns of being kicked out of the marines, never mentioned it to anyone and lied to the recruiter. Not the greatest moves out there, Fiona would declare, but decided to keep her friend's secret. "You'll be ok. Deep breaths. Deep breaths." she said, Nick slowly breathing regular again.

"T-Thanks…" Nick said, giving a small cough and sitting up. "Hit a... damn rock..."

"It's fine." Fiona said with a smile, though she frowned a moment later. "I really wish you would just admit you have asthma instead of trying to cover it up. Their going to find out, and you will get in trouble. They'll likely kick you out for lying."

"No they won't." Nick replied.

"And how can you be so sure or that?

"Because I'm the only "wizard" in the world right now. I doubt their going to kick me out for something that minor." Nick said with a frown, removing the sunglasses and helmet that covered his face amd allowing the wind to run through his short brown hair. Blinking his hazel-colored eyes, Nick took a quick cough, and fell back on the ground. Nick, who's full name is Nickolas Gerhard Crawford, is currently the worlds only (known) male witch or wizard. However, there are drawbacks to this, for being a male means his magical output is extremely low. Low enough to the point he is unable to pilot any air-based Strikers, and can only pilot the "weakest" ground-based Strikers, namely APC and Utility Strikers. In all truth, he is rather a novelty for the military, serving no true purpose in the world of magic. Though he at least is a decent user of machine guns. Still, the military is very eager to push Nick to his limit to see if he can improve, which is not necessarily a bad thing as improvement is good. Still, he did wish he had more power, more magical output. At least he can prove that he was not just a novelty item.

"Hey, lobster-tail; you should take off the Strikers." Fiona said, placing her hands on her hips and looking at the rather red, lobster-shaped tail that was sprouting from Nick's lower back. Such as Nick called Fiona "Fions", she called him "lobster-tail".

"Hey, it ain't a lobster, it's a crawdad." Nick said in defense, stopping his magic flow to the Striker which caused them to release their grip on his legs. At the same time his "tail" returned right back into his body. While most mammal tails, such as cats and dogs, simply wind away or curl up, Nick's tail had the peculiar method of rolling up into a small ball and then sink back into his body. A slower process compared to other witches. The same process was used in revise for the tail to come out of the body.

"I swear that's always creepy." Fiona said with a shiver, having always been disturbed by the way Nick's tail exits and enters his body.

"And it ain't as creepy as ya damn cat ears and tail?" Nick replied in a Gallian accent , raising an eyebrow as he spoke. Being born in the state of Louisiana, and living with his wisecracking grandmother of Gallian decent, Nick was used to making sarcastic remarks in both English and some very limited Gallian. He slept through that class.

"No." Fiona said with a sigh, as Nick returned his head to the sky. "But I mean a crayfish? Out of anything you can find as a familiar, it had to be a crustacean? Why not a bat, or a dragon?" Nick raised an eye at that. "Well, you get my point."

"Take it up with grandma. First thing she said when she found out I had a familiar was, "Fille! Why my boy has a crawfish tail? What he done to get that? Why not a muskrat familiar? And what about tha' daughter of yers? Don she be a witch as well?" Nick replied, quoting what his grandmother had said when she found out he had magically abilities.

"Nothing beats a Cajun grandma." Fiona sighed.

"We're Gallian and Liberion decent. We are not Cajuns." Nick corrected her.

"Really, sounds exactly the same to me."

"Ah, but you would be wrong. Ya see, Cajun's are those that are already settled in Louisiana long before my grandma arrived. When my grandma arrived, she only spoke Gallian; I mean she was a refugee of Gallia. Anyhow, she married a Liberion man, my grandpa, they settled down, had kids, and that's why I'm here." Nick replied, still looking at the sky.

"Wonderful." Fiona sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Are you going to just lie there all day?"

"Eh." Nick simply replied.

"You're not going to improve yourself with that attitude. Besides, you're a marine and a witch. Shouldn't that make you, I dunno, someone who would want to be more active?"

"While I am a Marine, I'm also a witch in training." Nick replied with a yawn. "Hey, aren't you supposed to report back to base? Seeing as I "crashed" and all." Nick quickly asked, knowing he was going to lose his argument. Fiona sighed.

"Alright..." as she left Nick's side, and walked back to her Striker and helmet. Nick turned his head to look at her and grinned. Being twenty-one, Nick always felt like a big brother to Fiona, whom was only nineteen. Though Fiona, as Nick saw it, appeared to think she was the more responsible one rather than Nick. Though this was odd, as they both joined the armed forces only three years ago, Fiona in the air force at sixteen, and Nick in the Marines at eighteen. Regardless, Nick felt very lucky to have made a good friend in Fiona, even though they did have their fair shares of fights.

"Lobster-tail, Commands on the line. Guess they want to talk with you." Fiona said with a sly grin. Nick muttered a curse under his breath.

* * *

"This is the fifth Striker you banged up in a month, Sergeant!" an African-Liberion yelled at Nick. This man, with his face and head being nearly derived of all hair, was Captain John "Grinder" Marvell, Nick's commanding officer. Standing beside the Captain was a Mexica man, his arms behind his back and his eyes a gaze.

"Sir, sorry sir!" Nick replied, standing up straight and bold as the Captain circled him.

"Sorry won't cut it, Sergeant! I was sent here to train your pussy ass. You know how many witches I trained, Sergeant?" the Captain barked.

"Sir, no sir!" Nick replied in a loud voice.

"I have trained thirty witches in my career, all of them Tank-witches. You know my surprise when I hear of a male witch, Sergeant?"

"Sir, no sir!"

"I was shocked! But I was more shocked when I found out that this witch was a pussy-ass kid! You know how it feels to have to train you?"

"Sir, no sir!"

"It's a pain in my ass. Never have I had to resort to giving a fledgling witch a Humvee Striker except for training! And here you are, only able to use Humvee Strikers!" John said, his dark eyes glaring at Nick as he circled him.

"Sir, I have low magical reserves, sir!" Nick replied, trying to not show his annoyance at his commander.

"Low magic output ain't, Sergeant! If I would, I'd strap you to an Iron-Man suit! Do you even know why I'm here?"

"Sir, train me sir!"

"Correct, give the man a prize!" John barked, throwing his hands out at Nick as if he was on a game show and just won an award. "Listen, I make tanks out of witches, and I swear I will make you a goddamned tank!"

"Sir, is that a promise sir?"

"Of course it is Sergeant! But you cannot even handle a freaking Bradly Striker. You know how embarrassing that is?" John stopped, allowing Nick to say something. "Very embarrassing, Sergeant! Now, you dinged up enough Humvee Strikers. Tomorrow, you're going to be in a Styker Striker."

"Sir, Styker Striker sir?"

"Don't play funny with me, Sergeant. As much as it pains me to say, you are showing progress. I was able to talk with command, and you're going to get a Styker Striker. Clear?"

"Sir, clear sir!"

"Maybe if you're lucky, we'll bump you up to an Bradley Striker. Dismissed!"

"Sir!" Nick said, saluting his commander before leaving the commanders office. John returned to his seat behind a large wooden desk. Opening the door of the office, Nick found that Fiona was waiting right outside, dressed in the formal Air Force outfit. A smug smile dressed her face.

"Captain Grinder chewed you out?" Fiona asked referring to the nickname the Captain received due to "grinding down" recruits. Others said he got the nickname from his time in the field. Thought in truth it came from 'Grinder's passion in life, gemstones.

"You can say that." Nick moaned, rubbing the back of his neck. Fiona rolled her eyes and held her hands behind her back. "So, what you came to see me about?"

"Just wanting to make sure you weren't kicked out of the military." Fiona said with a grin, crooking her head to the left.

"Far from it, Fions. Since I'm the only male witch in the world…"

"_Known_ male witch." Fiona cut him off.

"Yeah, whatever. Being the only male witch in the world, I highly doubt the military would cut me loose. Oh yeah, I'm apparently going to get a new Striker set tomorrow." Nick replied.

"Really? Did you bang up enough Humvee Strikers that the military went and made Ford Strikers?" Fiona sarcastically asked.

"Ha ha. No. I'm apparently being bumped up to the Styker Striker." Nick replied, shoving his hands in his pocket and walking away. Fiona walked beside him.

"A Styker Striker?" she asked.

"Yup. Try saying that ten times real fast. Anyhow, Captain Grinder here said I was 'improving' and bumped me up to the Styker. Not sure I'm improving at all, I mean hell, I'm a guy. Aren't we supposed to be weak in magic?" Nick sighed, Fiona patting his shoulder.

"Hey, don't sweat it. Remember that famous witch from Fuso?" Fiona asked, taking her hand off Nick's rather broad shoulder.

"Yoshika Miyafuji, right? Who _hasn't _heard of her?" Nick replied. "Seriously, she's in practically ever textbook now and has her own damn action figures."

"Yeah. Well, you've read about she improved, right?" Fiona asked.

"If I recall, she was killed because of it. Or should I say accident?" Nick replied, making his voice louder at the last part, startling two technicians that were walking by the pair.

"I wouldn't say that. Sure, she lost her magic and it's still classified how she died, but the point is she improved." Fiona added, leaving out the more obvious facts.

"And this is supposed to affect me how? You know, being I'm a guy, from Liberion, who has one of the weakest magical outputs known to man." Nick sighed, his head drooping into the collar of his "casual" military attire.

"Well, the point is we can all improve, right?" Fiona said with a half-hearted grin, trying to make Nick feel better.

"And all die. I mean, hell, I can barely even get enough magic to make a small shield." Nick groaned, knowing fully well he could not even throw up a shield, the magical spell that deflected most weapons. "Look, I'm sorry… but I just wish people would get the point I'm a male witch. I ain't nothing special."

"You're a male witch. That is special enough." Fiona corrected him.

"Yeah, but I don't feel special. I just feel like I'm an ape trying to talk." Nick replied with a breath of depressed air.

"Well… you have your own unique magic. That's good." Fiona said with a smile.

"Yeah, the power to hold my ground as long as I am upright or make my skin hard. How useful will that be?" Nick asked, approaching the door to his room. Being a witch, albeit a weak one, he was still given his own room, something the other males on the base were displeased about.

"You never know." Fiona said with a shrug.

"Yeah, well thanks for the encouragement. Sorry if I am being an ass, but now is not the time to try to bask in the light that I may be some "special" guy. I wish the military would not over-praise me, and just see me as a regular jarhead." Nick replied in a low tone, gripping the handle of the door.

"Nick, we all have gifts. Maybe you just don't know the true potential of yours yet." Fiona offered, as a smile crossed Nick's face.

"Yeah, who knows." He said softly, opening his door and entering his room. Fiona watched him and waited for his door to close before letting out a sigh. She hated to see Nick upset and at the same time was irritated that he would get upset about little things at the worst times. Maybe it was training, or maybe it was a medical conditions, Fiona could not tell. Sighing, she creaked her neck and began to trail down the hallway, only to be stopped by a high-pitch yell.

"FIONA!" the voice said, as Fiona yanked her head around and was greeted by a young girl with short blonde hair and big blue eyes.

"Oh, Adrienne. How are you?" Fiona greeted the young girl. Adrienne Alexander, known as "AA" for short, was a twelve-year old witch in training that lived off base, but was still part of the military, the Air Force specifically. Being twelve, the military refused to allow her around live ammo, and most of the day she would run around base to give messages to other soldiers, hand out mail, or just give motivation.

"Fiona, the Gen wants to see you!" Adrienne said in her usual high-pitched voice, as Fiona sighed.

"He does now? What does he need me for?" Fiona asked.

"Can't tell you. He said it was top secret." 'AA' replied.

"Oh, "top secret". Think you can give me a hint at what it is?" Fiona said playfully, bending her knees to be eye-level with the girl.

"Nope." 'AA' said, crossing her arms and turning away from Fiona.

"Well, good job for doing your job." Fiona smiled, patting 'AA' on the head. The little girl giggled, and quickly darted down the hall, her giggles trailing behind her. Fiona made a small smile seeing the little one skip down the hall, greeting the soldiers and workers at the base.

_"Hmmm, maybe I can use 'AA's motivational powers on Nick." _Fiona smirked playfully, turning to her left and proceeding down the hallway.

* * *

"Ah, Fiona, you finally arrived." A rather large man said, sitting behind a large oak desk. This man was General Harvard, the commanding General at the "Clarks Joint Air Force/Marine base, Nevada", so said the large banner that hung behind the General. The General himself was large, standing six foot two. His hair, which was beginning to thin out on the top, was a light gray and complimented his stern, smoky eyes. He also had a strong-looking face. The Generals office, also known by the men of the base as "the den", looked more like a library/bar then an office, with most of the walls lined with book shelves and the west wall containing a small bar, many alcohol bottles lining the shelf above the wall.

"Hello, Master Sergeant Fiona." Came another voice, that of Squadron Leader Melissa Finkal, the "leading" witch of the base. With short, charcoal-black hair and dark eyes to match, Melissa looked more like a man then a women, her flat chest not helping her either, nor her "manly" features as well.

"Hello, Melissa." Fiona said, glaring at Melissa, whom gave a smug smile and crossed her arms over her stomach, leaning back on the adjacent wall.

"Ladies, save the petty differences for later." The General replied, folding his hands on his desk.

"Sir." The two women said.

"Alright, now, let's get down to business." Harvard said, taking a breath. "As you two know, tomorrow is the Marine/Air Force witch war game."

"Sir, yes sir." Melissa sharply replied.

"Sir, I am aware sir." Fiona added.

"Good, well, you should know that tomorrow is Nickolas' first witch war game…"

"Do we need to bring that shrimp into this?" Melissa asked, cutting Harvard off. "Sir, no disrespect, but I don't think having our novelty item in a war game would do any of the witches any good, sir."

"Crayfish, not shrimp." Fiona muttered under her breath.

"Well, yes. However, you never let me finish. While tomorrow is Nickolas first war game, we need to cancel it." Harvard said, taking a deep breath. "The war game as a whole I mean. For you see, tomorrow, we start Operation: F.D.R."

"Sir?" the two women asked quizzically, Fiona tilting her head.

"Operation: F.D.R is a time-warping operation, the first ever. You see, apparently our scientist have figured out how to "bend" the fabric of space and time using magic. Of course, saying this, to enter this "bend" one needs to know magic, and know how to throw up a shield… which brings you two into the question."

"S-Sir?" the two women asked again, quite shocked that they were going to be involved in an operation that was apparently bending space and time.

"You see, as all our witches are being involved, Nickolas is included in this. I need one of you to provide shield support to him. We're not quite sure what happens if you don't make a shield while using the "bend"… but we rather not risk it at all now, would we. So, who will…"

"I will, sir!" Fiona suddenly said, cutting Harvard off.

"Well, your enthusiastic." The old man chuckled. "Alright, Fiona, watch Nickolas for us then."

"Sir, mind me asking, but can you shed any more light on this, sir?" Melissa asked, her hands by her side.

"I can not. You'll know tomorrow. Speaking of, I need everyone in the hanger at 0800 tomorrow. Understood?"

"Sir!" the two women said, quickly saluting him and walking out the door to Harvard's office. Fiona walked in rather quick strides as to avoid Melissa. However, Melissa, whom enjoys teasing the other witches, remained quiet and just shoved her fists in the pockets of her pants.

"Time travel. Shit, though I've seen everything." The elder witch mumbled, walking away from Fiona, whom was traveling to Nick's room. Finding it rather quickly, Fiona banged at his door and a warn-out Nick answered, wearing a green undershirt with his camo-colored shorts.

"Yo, Fiona." Nick yawned, scratching his head.

"Nick, you need to be in the hanger by 0800 tomorrow. Understand?" Fiona asked, as Nick looked at her blankly. He blinked.

"Um, yeah. Why though?" Nick asked with a yawn.

"Orders, just be there." Fiona swiftly replied while turning away from him and strolled down the hall. Nick watched her go, blinked, and then yawned again.

"Hanger, 0800, got it." He said to himself, shutting the door, and leaving the hallway empty.

* * *

**(A/N: Chapter 1 for you. Please don't spoil it for any new readers.)**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"_Why can't we just use regular time?" _Nick thought to himself, looking at his iPhone placed on a hybrid stereo/clock. The device read 6:00 A.M., which was 0600 military time. And Nick was supposed to report to the military hanger at 0800. In short, he had two hours to spare before he needed to report to the hanger. However, given this was the military, those two hours were needed to prepare for the day. Rolling out of bed, Nick sluggishly headed to his personal bathroom, grabbing a dirty towel from a nearby pile of clothes.

"Huh, could have sworn I put that in the laundry mat." Nick muttered, glancing at the pile before slamming the bathroom door. He was graced with a personal bathroom, another reason why many on base felt contempt for him. Returning from the bathroom a mere ten-minute later, Nick had dressed in casual military fatigue, his chin was cleared of hair and the Marine was refreshed and ready to face the day. But first, prayer. Heading to his bed, he knelt beside it, cupped his hands, and gave a silent prayer of thanks and worship as all good Catholics did. With prayer over, Nick's next stop was the mess-hall; hopefully, he didn't miss the rare treat of doughnuts.

* * *

"You guys are all out?" Nick said gruffly, looking at the blank plate before him that once housed a pyramid of fried dough.

"Yup, sorry Sergeant." Another Marine, a Private, said from behind the food counter. "You know how those other witches and doughnuts. I swear, how they keep their figures is beyond me." he shrugged, though his face showed he wasn't pleased with mess hall duty. As a general rule, witches and female military members got first picks on all meals.

"I guess." Nick sighed, heading over to a selection of small cereal boxes. Snatching one of the boxes, his favorite known as "Honey Toast Crunch:_,_ as well as a carton of milk. Next up, a disposable bowl and spoon, before finally trying the find a spot to sit. The witches table was out of the question, as was the officer's tables. So, Nick took a seat with other Marines, of who were talking about Sumous.

"I'm telling you man, those Sumous guys got some sort of mega-shield." One Marine said to another, who only rolled his eyes as he took a bite of his plain bagel.

"Yeah and how you find that out?" the other replied. Nick listened on the conversation as he poured the cereal into the bowl. The two Marines were friends of his, though more along the lines of "drinking buddies".

"Well, I heard it from a maintenance guy and he swore he talked to an ECHO."

"An ECHO." The other Marine stopped eating his bagel. "You swear on that?"

"Yeah. Dude, last night one of our Herc's landed here and it was painted all black."

"So?"

"So? So, there was ECHO's on there."

"ECHO's. Please." The other said, turning past his friend. "Hey, Nick you're a witch, ah, wizard and all. You know anything about ECHOs?"

"ECHOs." Nick chuckled, taking a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. "Let me tell you, I've seen that same Herc before, all black and all." Nick leaned in, as to speak in a whisper. The other Marine's followed suit. "You see, that black paint has some magic in it, I hear. Absorbs radar or something. Anyhow, I saw a black Herc land and all the techies running out to refuel it. But no one got off. They said it was cargo, but believe me; I didn't see that hatch drop once. But, I took a glance in the cockpit and I saw one."

"You saw an ECHO?" one of the Marine's asked. Nick nodded, taking another spoonful of cereal.

"Yup. Had the white-and-black full armor and all and I didn't see one inch, one inch of skin on 'em."

"He could have been jacking off for all we know." The other Marine chuckled.

"I doubt it. Anyhow, what got me the most was the guy's helmet. It looked like a skull. It was real freaky." Nick replied, as another, towering figure appeared behind him.

"The "ECHO" project is a myth, gentlemen." 'Grinder' said in a booming voice, the three Marines cowering some. "Think about it, super stealth soldiers? That's something out of a wack-job story or some shit like that."

"But, sir, don't you think the project like that could have existed?" another Marine spoke up.

"I'm not paid to think, son." He replied, turning from the table, and stomping away. The Marine's at the table looked at one another, and began to mumble to each other again. Nick, looking back at his now soggy cereal, just shrugged as he rose from his seat with his tray in hand. Before his eyes, a chocolate glazed doughnut landed on his tray.

"Saved ya one, lobster-tail." Fiona smiled.

"So ya did." Nick nodded gratefully, bringing his tray back to the line and handing it over to a man across the bar, but not before taking his doughnut with him. "So, what's new with witch talk?" Nick asked, taking a bite out of the doughnut.

"Clothes, shoes, the best way to chop-up another witch. You know the usual." She shrugged. "You?"

"ECHOs."

"ECHOs. That's just a myth you know." Fiona corrected Nick, as he finished off the fried treat in a single bite. "Super soldiers that take down governments, please, sounds like something out of "Call of Service", or "Aura", or some other Sci-Fi game." She crossed her arms as the two left the mess-hall.

"Call of Service ain't Sci-Fi." Nick tried to correct her as the two headed to their own separate rooms.

"I'll be by in a sec. Try not to fall asleep again, okay?" Fiona said as the two came to a cross-road in the halls, separating the witches quarters from the Marines. Fiona headed to the witches quarters while Nick headed to the Marines. Upon entering his room, Nick quickly threw on his MCCUU, and by habit grabbed his iPhone and shoved it into his pocket. Next up was Nick's M9 pistol, which lay in a holster that was hanging onto the side of a chair. Picking it up and strapping it to his belt. He then withdrew the gun and glanced it over. The safety was on. He smiled and slide it into the holster. Suddenly, there was knocking on his door. It was Fiona.

"Yeah, I'll be done in a sec." Nick called back.

"Fine. One. You done yet?" She replied in a sarcastic manner. She hated being late.

"Done." Nick said, exiting the room to face Fiona.

"Bout time." she rolled her eyes at Nick. Fiona, being an "airborne" witch, was dressed in a tan-green pilot suit. This was the S5-Witch, the standard flight suit of all Liberion witches. While appearing to be a rather normal looking jump suit, it can "decompress" if needed and become skintight. At the same time, the suit also provided warmth, limited protection, and with its clip-on oxygen tank, air. With all this, the witch was able to focus less on surviving in her environment, and more on the magical output. Underneath Fiona's left arm was a standard looking flight helmet, being white in color, having the black visor, and having an oxygen mask with a cord attached to the clip-on tank. This was the H47 Helmet, a device that is joked to be more expensive then a Striker thanks to all the features. All and all, Fiona looked ready to go.

"Well, aren't you all ready for take-off?" Nick sarcastically said, walking with Fiona down the hall.

"And you don't look that way at all, one-clip-wonder." Fiona added with her own nip, referring to the fact that Nick has never used another magazine in his M9, opting to just keep using the same one. A practice that was generally frowned upon. But since Nick had grown up around revolvers, his family were gun owners and users, he never saw the need to have to re-use another magazine.

"Yeah yeah." Nick said in sarcasm, pulling his red bandana around his neck and mouth, along with placing his sunglasses in a front pocket. Soon enough, the two witches began to make a half-jog half-run pace, clearing hallways and corridors as they went along. "So, any idea on what we're needed for?"

"If I knew, I'd have told you by now." Fiona replied, her hands changing the helmet's position, which was now hosted under the right arm

"True, true." Nick nodded, adjusting the microphone that sprouted from the underneath the left side of his helmet, lowering it so it would not be in the way.

"Would you please take that bandana off? You look like a robber or something." Fiona said, focusing on her words as to not say anything too offensive or worrying, less she worry the personal on the base. Since recent shootings, most people on base watched their mouths even closer then before.

"Part of my standard uniform. Can't." Nick replied.

"Then lower it please." Fiona begged, looking over her shoulder as Nick rolled his eyes and lowered the bandana. He gave her a goofy smile and Fiona could not help the feeling to giggle, but rather kept herself focused as the door to the hanger approached them. Slamming the door open, Fiona quickly came to a stop, and looked at the other witches in the room, all of whom were dressed in either pilot uniforms, or MCCUU's with shorts "Sorry we're late." Fiona said aloud, Nick coming to a stop next to her, clutching his chest.

"Dear sweet Lord… hang on a sec." Nick coughed. "I'm good, I'm good." The other witches in the room, who were muttering amongst themselves turned to look at their two fellow witches. Some rolled their eyes, while others shrugged and returned talking to their peers.

"Ah, Nick, ya made it." A rather loud, buxom woman said, approaching Nick. With her long blonde hair folded over her left shoulder, and having bright blue eyes, Major Nina Alexon was one you could never tell was happy or mad.

"Sorry ma'am." Nick said, taking in a breath of air. "Still adjusting to military time, ma'am."

"Ah, it's fine." Nina said as she wrapped an arm around Nick's neck with her arm, and rubbing her knuckles on the top of his head. "But you know our rule. Last witch in buys the first rounds. And guess whose last?"

"Me." Nick sighed, as Nina released her grip.

"You guessed it." She said, walking away from Nick and to the other tank witches. Nick sighed and creaked his neck. While Nina was not his commanding officer, she was the leader of the ten ground-based witches at the base, Nick and Nina being two of the ten. So, just like Captain Grinder, what she says goes.

"Guess drinks are on you." Fiona smiled, patting Nick's back.

"Yeah. But you ain't twenty-one." Nick laughed. While Clarks Joint Air Force/Marine base only had twenty witches, twenty-one if one counted 'AA', stationed there, a rather intense rivalry existed between the ground and air witches. This led to"war games" the base usually had between the two groups, as to assure that no real fights would break out. At the same time, the two groups could be broken down even more. The ground-based group consisted of six Tank-witches, two APC-witches used for equipment runs in enemy territory, and two Utility-witches for resupply and refueling on the ground. The airborne group consisted of four Fighter-witches, four Ground-Attack-witches, one Stealth-witch for multipurpose roles, and one witch geared specifically for observational duties.

Since Nick was the only known male witch in active service, he was more of an exception to the rule than another category.

"Alright witches, settle down, settle down." General Harvard said over a loud speaker, the General himself being in a small call box on the left-hand side of the wide hanger. The room went silent, and the twenty witches looked at the call box. "Alright, as your commanders told you, today we have to cancel the war games." The crowd of witches moaned at this, a few rolling there eyes. Nick gave a slight yelp of glee, being masked by the moaning of his comrades. No war games meant that he did not have to spend a day holding others paint-ball ammo, get having to run across a field, and being shot at from above. "However." Harvard's voice echoed in the hanger. "Today we are starting Operation: F.D.R. The world's first time-traveling experiment." The room was silent, with only a few lone coughs here and there.

"S-Sir… Are you serious?" one of the airborne witches asked, raising her hand.

"Yes, we are. We have ran tests on this sort of system in the past and finally figured out how to work it. If you all will kindly look to your left." The General replied, as the group of witches did so, seeing a large, rectangular metal frame on the unusually blank wall that was at the end of the hanger. "This is the Wrap-Space Inc. bending frame. In simpler terms, a time machine. Just as how your Strikers use magic and technology, this too uses magic and technology, only to wrap people back in time.

"Sir." The same airborne witch called out, turning to face the call box.

"Yes?"

"What is the exact operation of this machine, and will history be changed by our presences in the past?" The witch asked, as her peers mumbled amongst themselves.

"I can promise you that nothing you do in the past will affect the present. However, that much is all I am allowed to say, as this system is highly, highly classified." Harvard replied, clearing his throat. "Now, I want everyone to get into their Strikers, we're about to turn the system on. I do need to tell you that a Shield is needed to enter the vortex and that's about all I'm allowed to say." The General's voice boomed, as the witches quickly scrambled to their bulky Striker launchers, the airborne witches throwing their helmets on and "deflating" the legs of their suits so they can fit inside the Strikers. The ground witches just threw on their helmets, and jumped into their Strikers.

Within seconds, the room was filled with bright blue light and the roar of engines as the witches entered their Strikers. Every time a witch did so, small animal ears and a tail would slid through pre-cut holes within the uniform and helmets of the witches. And there was many, dog ears, cat ears, bird tails and feathers, and then there was Nick, in his Humvee Strikers, with his red crawdad tail. He gave a frown as he looked at the other witches, the witches with the tails and ears, and heavy weapons. All Nick got from the launchers "handout" (the term the witches use to the compartments that give them their weapons) was a M240L machine gun. While a reasonable arsenal for a witch using a Utility-Striker, Nick couldn't help but feel he was outgunned by the others, mainly due to the fact they were armed with Air-to-Air Missiles, multiple Heavy Machine Guns, Anti-Tank Sniper Rifles, Rocket Launchers, and even high-caliber Pistols.

"Hey, lobster-tail, you read?" Fiona's voice cracked over Nick's radio.

"Yeah, I read ya." Nick replied, pulling his red bandana over his mouth, and lowering putting his sunglasses over his eyes.

"Alright, you're gonna follow me." Fiona replied, as Nick gave a glance at her in her Strikers. The Strikers she wore were the same as before, F-16 Strikers. To her left, another witch wore the F-15 Strikers. The F-15 Striker, being bulky enough were one can attach missiles and bombs to it, looked more like the body of a small F-15 without the "head" and cockpit, and cut down the middle, each half being one Striker. This was how most twin-engine Strikers looked like, appearing the be the decapitated plane cut down the middle.

"Alright, how come?" Nick asked, looking to his left, as seeing a fellow ground-witch in the more mechanical-looking M1A1 tank-Striker, the witch holding the massive Rheinemetall 120 mm smooth-bore Tank Cannon in one hand, a large shell in the other. It was customized to be held and used by a single person, though.

"You can't throw up a shield, remember." Fiona barked over the radio. "So I am going to have to be your designated Shield-Barer."

"Sounds fun." Nick replied, grabbing two boxes of ammo for the M240L. He had no sights for this weapon except for the basic iron sights. No matter, though, as he used spray-and-prey tactics. The M240L was the newest version of the M240. Lighter by five pounds then the M240B, the 240L also featured a adjustable buttstock along with a shorter barrel and shorter handguard.

"Yeah, fun my ass." Fiona retorted.

"Now now, don't get all mad at me." Nick replied, slapping the machine gun onto his back.

"I'll be mad if I wish to be mad." Fiona fumed playfully, as Nick began to "glide" away from the Striker Launcher and to the large metal frame. Unlike airborne witches, whom need to be "launched", ground witches could easily leave their launchers. "Where the hell are you going?"

"Just to see the frame, see, no problem here." Nick grinned under his bandana, as a rather faint, blue spiral of light began to appear on the wall behind him.

"Nick, turn around, and walk away slowly." Fiona ordered, as Nick turned his head around to see the now growing spiral of light, sparks of what looked like electricity running from the center of the spiral to its edges.

"Sir, did you turn on the machine?" one of the witches asked, her voice sounding on all the headsets.

"No, I did not. Sergeant Crawford, go back to your launcher, now." Harvard ordered over the radios.

"S-Sir." Nick nodded, watching the spiral fill the entire frame, and begin to glow brighter. Then suddenly, a loud, sharp cry pierced the entire hanger.

"Sergeant, get your ass out of there!" Nina yelled over the radio. But Nick didn't respond, watching in a daze as four machines slowly walked out of the light. Each one was a humanoid-like machine seven-feet tall and extremely streamlined, colored a pale silver. The heads, round with a single red eye, slowly gazed the room. No one said a thing and no one did a thing. Then, one of the machine reached out a hand at Nick, grabbing him by the neck and violently shaking him. This was a good enough reason for Fiona to attack, despite being in her Striker. Equipped with a handheld minigun, she squeezed the trigger and let off a couple of bursts at the machines. The rounds bounced off the machines, but caused them to drop Nick. It was then they raised their arms and began to fire wrist-mounted fifty caliber machine guns.

"Alright, you have the order to launch, launch and attack!" Harvard yelled, as a siren sounded in the hanger and the airborne and ground witches darted from their launchers, guns and weapons primed. The machines seemed unphased by all of this as they strafed the room with fire, the witches and guards returning fire. One tank witch, armed with the Rheinemetall, fired a round at the machines. It hit one of them squarely in the chest and knocked it right back into the portal. The other three, seeing that the witches were armed and deadly, raised another arm that let loose nearly thirty small rockets that buzzed around the room and struck Striker holders, a catwalk, and a housed Black Hawk helicopter. With the damage done, the machines simply walked right back into the portal but not before breaking it by bending the steel.

"Hold fire, hold fire!" Nina yelled out over the radio, as many of the witches were still firing. "Wait, wait, everyone goddamn wait." She said, holding out a hand to quiet everyone. The hanger, as it was before, was now silent save the crackle of fire.

* * *

About eighty miles away, a rancher was awoken by what sounded like a explosion.

"What in God's green Earth was that!" the rancher, a man with grey eyes and grey hair to match said aloud as he rose from his bed wrapped in a plain pajamas as his house finally stopped shaking. Looking out from a window, he slanted his eyes at a strange glow in one of his fields. "Darnit, I thought I told those Army punks my property was _my _property." He cursed, walking away from the window and to his closet. Pushing aside hanging clothes and resting boxes, the rancher came across what he was looking for; a gun safe. Turning the lock to its correct positions, the man swung the heavy door opened and retrieved a Model 25 shotgun.

"Experiment with my land, will ya." The man gritted his teeth, as he held the gun tightly and shoved shotgun shells into barrel. This man, Fredrick J. Louis, Fred to his friends, was a cattle rancher. And despite not heeding the warning of his friends, the man bought a hundred acre piece of land, located not too far from a military base, which he knew only by the name of "Clarks".

"Thought we had an agreement, I stay off your land, you sure as hell stay off mine." He cursed, swinging open the screen door to his porch, where a Border Collie stood, barking. "I know 'ol boy. Those damn bastards think it's fun to mess with my land. We'll see whose laughing after I blow a hole in one of 'hem fancy hummers." He said, storming to his own parked vehicle, a blue 1993 Dodge Ram. Opening the door, he shoved the keys into the ignition and started the truck up with a roar to its engine. The Collie barked even more as his master drove by. "Don't ya worry 'bout me none. I'll take care of this, and I'll be back soon." And with that, Fred drove off to the direction of the light, which was only a convenient two minutes away.

Arriving at the spot, Fred put the truck in park, swung the door open and with shotgun in hand made his way to a small crater with the shotgun raised to a firing position at all times. By this time, the ground and land was silent and featureless, except for a massive crater in the ground. Fred slowly approached the crater, expecting to find a missile or an alien baby. What he found was more surprising.

"Now I'll be damned." He said.

* * *

Reviewing the report of the incident, Harvard was not very happy. Three men were injured, eight witches were injured, a Black Hawk helicopter destroyed, and the billion dollar machine was damaged. What's worse, Nick and Fiona were reported M.I.A, Missing In Action.

"Damn." he huffed, sitting in his chair and reviewing the notes. How was he going to report this? What if it leaked? But then, the worst news came.

"Sir!" A private ran into the office, saluting Harvard quickly. "Captain John and his assistant are reported missing. They were last seen in the Mess Hall. A cook said they vanished into thin air." he added. "Sir, what is going on?"

"I wish I knew, Private." Harvard sighed. "I wish I knew." Harvard, however, knew well enough what was happening.

* * *

**(A/N: Chapter two for you. Re-worked and inclusion of PPCS.)**


End file.
